“That’s not true,” Johanna said. “We want you, Grady. Why do you think we’ve been doing what we have all these years?”
“Which is what, Mrs. Chamberlain?”
Johanna stilled. Graham watched as his mother shut down. She would never admit to an outsider their part in Grady’s addiction, but Graham would. “We’ve enabled from the beginning,” he started and glanced quickly at his father. “At first, we called it coping. What he experienced the night in question—we never actually knew how it affected him; we only assumed, so we drank with him. We got him drunk, held him while he vomited all over the place, picked him up in the middle of the night, and drove him home. I can admit it was nice forgetting everything or at least putting a foggy haze over what transpired. But then, weeks turned into a month, which turned into two, three became four, and a year later, he was still drunk, and we still enabled. It’s been a very long and difficult fifteen and a half years, and Grady hasn’t seen a sober day since, and until recently, my family has always given him a safe place to drink.”
“That would be the Whale Spout?” Dr. Andrews asked.
Graham nodded. “The bar has been in our family for generations. I now co-own it with my father, and I firmly believe the reason my dad won’t relinquish the rest of his ownership is because he wants Grady to be able to drink there freely.”
“Do you disagree, Mr. Chamberlain?” All eyes were on the patriarch of the family. George was uncomfortable under the scrutiny but nodded.
“I didn’t want my son to go without or for him to be one of the people you see on the street corner. I tried to protect him. I thought if he had a roof over his head, warm meals, and clean clothes, he would someday come to his senses. I can see now the mistakes I’ve made.” Johanna placed her hand in George’s and kept it there.
“Grady, do you blame your dad for your addictions?”
He shook his head.
“Graham, Grady told me about an episode which happened over the summer on the beach. He said you hurt him.”
Graham tensed as his parents made eye contact with him. He cleared his throat and said, “This past summer, a friend who had disappeared after the accident returned. Grady blames her for Austin’s death. I think her return triggered something in him, because he changed a lot. He became more manic, demanding, bordering on violence. We were having a party on the beach, and he went after her. I tackled him to the ground to get him away from everyone.”
“Grady, how did that make you feel?”
“Like my brother chose his friends over me.”
Partly true, but Graham wouldn’t admit it. He wanted Grady far away from everyone because when he was around, he caused a scene. What he had done to Brooklyn was inexcusable.
“I was trying to save Grady. Others were there and protective over the woman he went after. It wasn’t going to end well for him.”
“Have you always tried to protect Grady?”
Graham nodded. “Up until this past summer, and then I stopped caring.”
“Why’s that?” Dr. Andrews asked.
“Because after the incident at the beach, I suspected he was using but couldn’t confirm anything, and one morning, I got to work, and the back door had been busted in, cases of beer and booze gone. I didn’t want to think it was my brother, but when he didn’t show up to the bar day after day, those suspicions grew. I told our dad Grady wasn’t welcome in the bar anymore.”
Dr. Andrews looked from brother to brother and then to their parents. Johanna was quiet, dabbing her tears, while George sat stone faced.
“Grady, is there anything you’d like to say?”
He was quiet for a long time. The whole room was silent except for the sound of the second hand moving on the old analog clock attached to the wall. Grady’s legs swayed back and forth; he looked agitated, uncomfortable.
“Grady?” his therapist nudged.
“I resent Graham for always thinking he’s perfect.”
Graham scoffed. “Are you serious right now, Grady? You resent me? I harbor so much ill will toward you for not pulling your life together and moving on. I gave up my life, my chance at happiness, for you. And all you do is shit on me constantly. You stole from my business and won’t even admit it. I defend you to everyone in town when they call you a lowlife, a bum—it’s me telling them you’re trying to find your way again. But the only path you’re following is the one that leads to the next bottle. I came back for you, Grady, because you needed me, and look where that’s gotten me.”
“Graham,” Johanna said his name quietly as she rested her hand on his arm.
“I’m sorry, Mom, but it’s true. I was happy in California, and I should’ve stayed. I lost my girlfriend because of him. My job, my friends. Everything. I put Grady first, thinking he’d snap out of it, that he’d realize what he was doing to himself. He had a company to run and people who depended on him. Instead, he let it all go. He gave up on himself, his dreams, and took us down with him.”
Graham was frustrated, and yet he felt relieved. When he glanced at his parents, they were crying. He held his mom’s hand tightly in his while Grady rocked back and forth, mumbling. “Say something, Grady,” Graham demanded. “Don’t waste our time anymore. Prove to us this therapy session is worth us driving all the way over here.”
Grady looked at his brother. His eyes were still hollow and void of emotion, but the whites of his eyes were no longer bloodshot, and he was looking more like Graham than he had in years. “You think I want this? Do you think I want to sit here and listen to how much of a loser I am?”
“Then fix it,” Graham challenged. “Take the opportunity to fix your life before it’s too late.”
“Easier said than done, brother. You’ve always been the one with goals; all I wanted to be was a fisherman with my best friend, and now he’s gone.”
“And why is that, son?” George asked. “Why didn’t you stop him that night? You knew the risks, and yet you did nothing to stop him.”
“You don’t think I tried, Dad?”
George stood and threw his hands up in the air. “We don’t know because you won’t talk to us. No one knows what happened—not the full story. You’ve kept it bottled up, and it’s eating you alive. Tell us so we can help you.”
“Grady,” Johanna interrupted as she looked from her husband to her son. She took a deep breath and turned toward him. “Austin has been gone for a long time. It’s time you move on. It’s time you grow up and stop blaming him.”
“Mom . . .”
“I’m sorry, son. I am, but I’m tired. I’m so tired of all of this. The late-night phone calls, the sleepless nights wondering if you’re coming home or not—and if you’re not, whether you’re safe. I’m old, and I shouldn’t be. I want to take vacations with my husband. I want to be a grandmother and have babies all around me—none of which will ever happen if you stay like this. Our family, it’s broken, and it needs to heal. We need you to heal. We can’t keep doing this. I know you have nightmares about that night, Grady. We all do. We were there when you were pulled from the water. I held you, cold, shivering, and crying out for Austin. I watched day after day while my husband, sons, and friends went out into the water, searching. I prayed with the moms, cooked the meals for the volunteers. I will never forget those days and weeks, the look on Carly’s face . . . or yours . . . at Austin’s funeral. And I’m not asking you to forget, but I am asking you to move on, to see past that night. You need help, Grady. Maybe we all do. I am begging you because I want my son back.”